


Bow Down Before No Man

by Carleen



Category: Agent Locke, Halo, Halo 4 - Fandom, Natalie - Fandom, ONI - Fandom, Randall Aiken - Fandom, Randall-037, Spartan - Fandom, Vodin, jameson locke - Fandom, spartan II, spartan III
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Carleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spartan II, Randall-037 lives on Vodin, as Randall Aiken. The people there saved his life and he's become a respected member of their community. Content and happy, he forgets that things have a way of changing. Forgets that things always change and perhaps happiness was never his to claim.</p><p>AN: Thanks and Spartan Smiles to FlashDevil for the plot ideas. However, I take full responsibility for any changes in canon and timeline. A timeline, which to me is more difficult to track than an algebra problem. So just enjoy... Maybe, it'll be a good story. Thanks for dropping by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace." — _Ecclesiastes 3,_ King James Version (KJV)

* * *

     If he keeps his eyes focused on the infant in his arms, he won't see the raw earth piled next to the grave or smell the dank, cold stench of death creeping up from the dark hole. People weeping quietly surround him, their emotions threatening to smother him with their need. The odd line of his white dress shirt and black suit around his wrist feels strange and restrictive. He flexes his large hands over the infant and holds her closer.

     Overhead, birds call from trees fresh with the new growth of spring. The smell of freshly mown grass and roses close his throat with a cloying perfume. The wildflowers she loved tempt him to look up as they bow and sway in the light breeze. This is exactly the kind of day his Lara loved. He swallows hard, that dark pit is not the place for her. The baby begins to fret, so he retrieves the pacifier and she accepts it impatiently.

     The scarred, work-worn hands that hold his daughter so lovingly remind him of days past. He'll never forget the long and often brutal days fighting alone or with a team of Spartans. He'd lived his life on the battlefield and slept in the frozen blindness of Cryosleep. He is no longer that man. He will never stop thinking of himself as a soldier, but in his heart, he is no longer a Spartan. Those were the days before he'd learned the love of a woman or the tender scent of a newborn. Although, there are things he's still not accustomed to, he is proud to have found his place in this community.

     The priest says something to him he doesn't catch. The man's been droning on and on for thirty minutes. What do his words, or any words matter now? They will not bring her back. What can replace the smile that was just for him, the warm body that soothed away the nightmares and the hands that caressed away the pain? Nothing can replace the woman who gave up her life to give him this beautiful little girl staring up at him so innocently.

     He focuses his eyes on the man suddenly standing in front of him. Only because the priest just called him by name. He wishes they would all just disappear, but they won't because his wife has family here on Vodin and he is following their wishes.

     "Mister Aiken?"

     He remembers what he's supposed to do now and walks slowly to the graveside. The bouquet of wildflowers he'd forgotten about fall from his fingers into the grave. It's an empty gesture at best, but it's what her family wanted. They expect him to say a few words, but there is nothing he can say to her now that he has not said before. And Lara can no longer hear him when he tells her how beautiful their little girl is and how much she changes almost hour by hour.

     Three days ago, a smiling nurse handed him the infant and he'd held her up for his wife to see. Their eyes met over the squalling and kicking new life they'd created and he'd never known such a perfect moment of happiness. Then something changed in her eyes, he'd watched it with growing confusion. The medical staff began to move very quickly while the smile on her face turned to fear, then terror. Their moment of joy, replaced with anxiety.

     The last words he heard from his wife were, 'let me hold my baby'. Then her outstretched arms dropped to the bed. Had she even heard him say, I love you before the medical team shoved him out of the room. She hadn't been able to hold her daughter before they made him leave. There he stood outside the door, listening to frantic shouting of the medical team.

     An hour later, the doctor walked out of the delivery room. Her surgical gown bloody and her cap soaked with sweat. She hadn't needed to tell him anything, he already knew. The specter of death had been his companion for many years. He thought he'd left it behind, but it had found him again. His daughter screamed and writhed in his arms.

     They beckoned him into the room where his wife lay silently on fresh clean sheets. One of the staff had taken the time to smooth her hair back from her face. After the rigors of childbirth, she appeared so calm and peaceful. The animated expression is gone, the smile and her laughter. The wonder in her eyes when she placed his hands on her belly as she told him about the pregnancy.  Somewhere in the background, the doctor said something about hemorrhaging. How sorry they were at their inability to save her. The baby was a healthy girl.

     He had done this to her. He'd gotten her pregnant and he had killed her. That had been thirty-six hours ago. He'd endured three long days of family and friends trying to comfort the grieving father. Now he must say a final goodbye to this plain wooden box, which inexplicably holds his the body of his dead wife. There hadn't been enough time for him to understand the miracle of their lives together and now she is gone.

     When he's ready and when he can, Randall Aiken steps into the crowd of mourners to hide the grief he can no longer control. They offer what solace they can to the tall silent man who literally fell into their lives and became such a valued member of their community.

     "I'll always take care of you," he whispers into the soft scent of her pink blanket. She's barely three days old, her name is Natalie and she's the daughter of Spartan Randall-037.

     After a few moments of watching his daughter contentedly sucking on her pacifier, his brother-in-law lays a hand on his shoulder and nods toward a stand of trees. He follows the man's gaze to the sight of two men crossing the grass, between headstones, toward the graveside. They are very tall and very familiar and — _bloody hell_ — have no reason to be here.

     His daughter begins to cry when his hands convulse around her small body.

     The priest raised his hand over the crowd, "Peace be with you."

     The mourners respond appropriately, while Randall Aiken abruptly hands the child, he has not willing let go of for three days, to her aunt. Anger overrides grief as he strides toward the two men. When they see him, they stop to wait for Aiken to approach. The fewer people around the better for this conversation, so they pause beneath an old gnarled tree, half-dead from a long ago lightning strike.

     The two men are very tall and resemble each other in a way that might make you think they are related. They wear similar polo shirts, the dark fabric stretched over hard muscles. The blue jeans look new and stiff, as though they aren't worn very often. Their hard, lean faces reveal nothing of what they are thinking. Their stance is anything but respectful mourners at a graveside. They are men of action. Alert, constantly assessing their surroundings and remaining still does not come easily.

     "I suppose I should be impressed it took two of you to come for me," Randall Aiken spoke first, when he got close enough. His words grind out of his throat and shatter like shards of glass. The two men actually take a step back at the fury pointed their way.

     "We both came because we need you to understand the importance what we have to tell you and remind you of your responsibilities."

     "Bollocks!" Aiken spat, trying and failing to keep his voice low. "The only thing that's important right now is my little girl. I should knock you flat for interrupting Lara's funeral."

     "We're sorry about your wife."

     Randall swiveled his head toward the second man with sandy brown hair and dark blue eyes. A sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose is completely out of place on the lined face of man who's known only violence and loss.

     "Are ye now?" Randall snorted a laugh that sounded more like a threat. "And I might believe you John, if I'd ever witnessed a moment of genuine emotion out of you."

     "That's not fair or proper. It was the way we were raised… you were the one who left us." The other man said, stepping forward.

     "Get to the truth of it, Jun. Halsey sent you here to do what? Drag me back? Have the pair of you come to get me feeling guilty enough to come crawlin'?"

     John spoke again, "We need your help, Randall."

     "Now then," Randall said loud enough to cause a few heads to turn in their direction. "The both of you clear out. I won't come with you and that's the end of it. I have a wee lass with no mother. This is my home and my family. If I hear the word mission out of either of you it'll be a fight."

     Jun raised his hands, "We're not the enemy, Randall. We need your help and…" He stopped talking and looked toward John. When John nodded, he continued, his voice low and intense. "Those ONI pricks are coming for you Randall. Seems they haven't gotten the full value of their investment out of you."

     Jun managed to catch the fist Randall aimed at his face.

* * *

 "We bow down before no man." Afterwards, when they came to the Persian King's presence, the guards ordered them to fall down in homage and when they refused, force was used, the Spartan's resisted and this was their reply to the King.


	2. Bow Down Before No Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hello again. Thanks for dropping by. I know I'm taking a few liberties here, but I'm so intrigued by these characters and so disgusted with Nightfall, I feel the need to create a story.  
> 

* * *

"For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first." ―Suzanne Collins,  _The Hunger Games_

* * *

     The three men squared off and Jun, just to make a point, held on to Randall's fist for second longer than Randall allowed it. He sneered into Jun's face, "I told you two to clear out. Or shall we break all protocol and just have a go at it here on the grass. I'm sure no one'll notice."

     "Get a hold of yourself. There are larger forces at work here."

     "There always are John. Always are. Just so you know, I protected my little slice of humanity here on Vodin. They saved my life and I helped them rebuild their community and made a home here for myself. And. I. am. not. leaving."

     Jun threw up his hands with an impatient gesture. "We know the story. Covenant orbital battle. You fell from one of the planet's skyhooks into Vodin's atmosphere, plunged to the surface. Managed to survive by landing in one of the colony's oceans. Nice story. Just please spare us the romantics."

     "Jun, you son-of-a-bitch, I'll dig you a grave with my own hands. You're about two words shy of calling me out as a traitor." Randall's hands closed into fists and the sound his anger drew the attention of the mourners just leaving for their vehicles.

     "I'll call you a coward, too. Hiding behind the skirts of a wife and these people. I may not know everything about your kind of Spartans, but I know," he waved his hand toward the staring crowd, "this wasn't a part of your training."

     John-117 moved between the two men. Someone around here needed to act like an adult. Why the fuck did it always, turn out to be him? These Spartan IIIs were nothing but a wild bunch, intent on kill numbers and showing off. They were, in his opinion, out of control and no good would come of them. Randall-037? A good man in a bad situation. Had no one really thought to go looking for him in ten years? No Spartan ever dies. Bullshit. That was just more of Halsey's propaganda.

     A sound no human ear could hear vibrated the air molecules and parted the air between the men drawing them away from each other and turning their attention to the tree trunk. Silent and deadly, a well-placed shot had impacted the tree dead center. The only evidence was the smoking hole in the dead wood.

     "Randall?" His brother- in-law, called him from the vehicle. "Coming? Nat's in the car with us."

     Behind the Spartans, the dry timber burst into flame. The old tree went up like a torch and an easily spotted target. Another shot exploded into the pile of dirt next to Lara's coffin. All around them screams ripped the through the air. Ten years was not enough time to forget a Covenant invasion. Panic drove them to run not just for cover, but also for their lives.

     The priest shouted for them to stay away from their vehicles and get into the trees. Their spiritual leader since that fateful attack he was one among many who held the survivors together and helped form a new community. His strong and persuasive voice managed to turn them from the parking area toward the tree line.

     The second shot landed just close enough to the vehicle, where his daughter slept in her car seat, to make a point.  
Jun and John rolled away from the tree while Randall sprinted toward the car. With Spartan speed and a father's love pushing him on he managed to grab his daughter, slide across the back seat and out the other door. Tucking her against his chest, he rolled down the short slope and away from the car. He called to his brother-in-law, but the man was frozen with fear and surprise.

     "Take care of that little girl, Randall!" He watched his brother-in-law, a man he knew as a friend and loved like a brother stand tall. Then understood it wasn't fear at all when the man dropped himself into the car and sped away, churning grass and mud beneath the wheels. He didn't get far.

     The infant wailed in protest.

     The third shot hit the car in the fuel tank, and Randall dropped his head and tucked his body around his screaming daughter. A ball of heated gas roared across the Spartan burning the shirt off his back. The four-foot dip in the lawn saved him and only the thought of keeping his daughter safe kept him from screaming.

     Two hundred yards away, Lieutenant Jameson Locke swore and aimed his weapon into the panicked crowd. If he couldn't get the Spartan, he'd take out a few more of his so-called family. That should bring him out of hiding. The other two Spartans had disappeared, and the young lieutenant was under no illusions that he'd see them again. That was okay. His real target was Randall-037.

     His orders, signed by Halsey herself, were explicit. Retrieve the renegade Spartan Randall-037. MIA for the last decade, he'd finally surfaced after the planet Vodin recovered enough to contact the other colonies. Locke adjusted his scope and noticed a man pointing toward the wooded area, east of the graveyard. Dressed all in black, Locke remembered watching the man speak at the funeral ceremony. Keeping the chaos churned up would help Locke locate the Spartan. A breath, a squeeze of the trigger and the man clad in black dropped silently to the ground, only the red cloud where his head had been a sign that he'd been standing there at all. Now, Locke could hear the screaming as it rolled across the emerald grass toward his location. His Spotter chuckled in admiration,

     "Helluva shot, LT."

     "Couldn't have made it without you, Third. We work well together. Let's pick up the pace and call in the rest of the team. Time to move in for the pickup."

     "Aye, sir." While the Petty Officer Third Class, Alistair Bov Estrinmade made the call, Jameson Locke watched for his target moving through the crowd. It's what he'd do. Try and hide himself among the panicking crowd. But hiding a 6'7" frame wasn't so easy.

     And there he was!

     Locke followed Randall-037 through his scope, moving through the crowd staying low and darting into the trees. The lieutenant, with higher aspirations than sniper specialist, took his time loading the tranquilizer bullet into his rifle. Catching this prize would mean, at the very least, a field promotion. He'd make sure his Spotter came along for the ride. He was a good man and someone he's learned to trust. And trust didn't come easy to a man like Jameson Locke.

     A skinny boy of eight, covered in lice, plucked off the inner city streets of Jericho VII. Arrested by the local militia on a backward planet on an equally backward edge of the galaxy, for stealing food from a street vendor and arrested. The vendor had seen something in the boy and paid his bail. What awaited the child in prison was far worse than anything he might face in the street including starving to death.

     The young boy was bright enough to understand the man had saved his life. He worked hard and never missed a day of school. On his seventeenth birthday, he left for college. No one was prouder than the street vendor was. But pride blinded him from the truth about Jameson Locke. The street had left its mark on the bright young man long before he'd learned to eat right and do well in school. A cruel streak burned into his skin by long lonely nights on the street, learning how to survive and that cruelty could get you what you wanted.

    After college, the military beckoned. They offered the bright young black man, with stellar grades, not only a commission, but a chance at qualifying for a secret branch of the UNSC. The mystery of it and the idea he could qualify for something special, something no one else could achieve drove him to accept the offer.

     Locke’s attention turned back to the Spartan when he made the mistake of standing upright. The man had his back to him, but he could plainly see the baby in his arms and the black suit jacket. Locke watched the Spartan take off running. Of course, he'd try to save the crowd by drawing fire. He smiled like a predatory wolf heading toward its prey. It’s a smile he rarely allowed himself, but this was special. When the Spartan was approximately 300 yards from his position, Locke took a long breath… might as well have something to brag about.

     "Freak," Locke whispered and squeezed the trigger gently.

     The tranquilizer missile hit the Spartan squarely in the back of his leg, where it could explode most efficiently into his bloodstream. Nice shot, he thought as his muscles responded by locking up. He dropped to his knees. The bundle rolled away from him. Then he fell headlong his arms outstretched, reaching… the spring sun dimmed and went out.


	3. Bow Down Before No Man

* * *

"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." — Friedrich Nietzsche, _Beyond Good and Evil_

* * *

     The Lieutenant gazed down his scope and allowed himself a moment to gloat over his perfect shot. Satisfied the man he was sufficiently sedated for safe pickup by the other agents, he begin to dismantle his sniper rifle. Before he could stand, someone grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him away from the ledge. Booted feet kicked the rifle from his hands, snapping the small bones of his wrist in the process. He didn't cry out. No, he'd learned to sublimate pain as a teenager. The struggling to rise and face his attacker earned him a kick in the chest. The blow left him flat on his back, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

     One or two men attacking him? He couldn't tell and they were very careful about letting him see their faces. Their strength gave them away because now he was almost certain they were Spartans. He'd gotten a sense of their size and strength, evident in his throbbing wrist and cracked ribs. Cursing himself for staying in one spot too long, he wondered what they'd done to his spotter. Then someone grabbed him, pulling his arms together until his shoulders cracked and jerked him to his feet.

     "The next time I see you I will slowly kill you with my bare hands." The hands shook him hard enough to make stars appear before his eyes. Close to losing consciousness, pain built on pain and he managed to get enough breath into his lungs to speak.

    "Fuck you, Spartan freak," he managed before the large hands tossed him over the edge of the cliff.

     An hour ago, his spotter informed him it was thirty feet to the bottom. He wondered if he'd survive impact. Lucky for him there were no boulders or hard scrub in his path. Rolling painfully to a stop in the mud. He knew better than to move. If they'd meant to kill, they could have, so he would stay right here for as long as it took to make sure they were gone.

     On the other side of the cemetery, deep inside the small forest of conifers, Randall Akin watched John dust the grass off himself and toss the small bundle he'd carried into the trees.

     "You weren't out very long, just a minute or two."

     "They must have guessed at the dosage." John shook his head to clear it. "Lucky for us." Then he lifted Natalie from her hiding place and assisted Randall to strap the baby sling over his body.

     "John, I…"

    The Spartan shook his head and continued, "You understand now, that ONI means to find you? That could only have been them trying to capture you." John gestured up the narrow trail.

    "Aye, I understand now. I… suppose I should thank you and Jun."

     John held up his hand, "Unnecessary. Just up this hill, you'll find an aircraft. Take it and get out of this System."

    "Will you shake my hand?"

     John impatiently returned the handshake and then pointed at the infant sleeping peacefully in a sling against her father's chest. "You know what they'll do to you? What do you think they'll do to your daughter? You're the only one of us who's fathered a child, Randall. Don't let them get their hands on her."

"I won't, I swear it. Goodbye, John."

     He wouldn't miss these two men. They'd trained since childhood against that sort of attachment. But no amount of training or indoctrination could remove the fierce protectiveness he felt for the small heartbeat thumping against his chest or that he would never see this group of people he'd learned to call family again. He was taking away the only link they had with the woman named Lara. He thought they would agree with his choice to get them both to safety. If ONI knew he was gone, they would leave these people alone and so he ran.

     Ten minutes later, he stood under the belly of a UNSC Broadsword. Inside the aircraft, he found a pressurized container with thermal blankets. Had John or Jun thought of this? They'd planned for his daughter's safety. Their thoughtfulness touched him deeply. He'd been a Spartan, and then learned to be a member of a community; he'd learned to love and fathered a child. Now, he was a widower and a single parent.

     Next to the container, he found a bag full of infant formula, diapers, and disposable bottles. Deep inside the bag, he found a change of clothes and an envelope full of cash and credit chits. There was no time for sentiment. Randall strapped his daughter in and closed the lid. His actions earned him a toothless grin. He yearned to hold her again. He wanted to go back and thank them. But he knew better. The best thank you he could give them was to get off this planet safely. Maybe, if he were lucky he could come back some day so Natalie could meet her family.

     Running footsteps clattered up the ramp. He reached for the switch, but it was too late. Three men covered head to two in black tried to jump him. With is daughter's safety in mind, Randall swung his fist into the face of the first assailant. These fucking ONI, who trained them? The force of the blow spun him around and snapped his neck.

     Randall-037 counted one.

     The second man aimed a dart pistol at him and fired. The Spartan was only a few feet from him, but he threw himself to the side and managed to roll away far enough that the dart clattered harmlessly to the deck.

     His daughter screamed.

     Randall threw a roundhouse kick into the man's chest and dropped him like a felled tree. Pumping straight from the man's shattered heart blood pooled on the deck. Just as he turned, toward the sound of his daughter's cries, he managed to snag a pistol off a weapons rack.

     That's two.

     The third man held his daughter as if she were a sack of trash. His other hand held not a dart gun but a magnum pistol.

     "Capturing both of you is a bonus. But I will kill her, so you'd better think twice about what you're about to try."

     "This will not end well for you," Randall said gazing deeply into the man's eyes.

     "I'm not stupid enough to end up like those two. I think they just tossed Loc… that sniper.... off the cliff.

     Randal blocked the sounds of his daughter's cries and focused on the pistol pointed at his chest. With at least six feet between them, the Spartan couldn't simply rush him without being shot and certainly not with his daughter's life in the balance. The Spartan took an experimental step toward the ONI agent. The idiot obliged him by move backward, which framed him perfectly in the hatchway. If he could count on his Spartan brother's just one more time.

     Randall put his hands out palm up, altering his the tone of his voice. "Please don't hurt my daughter. Take me, but let me give her back to her family."

     The agent held the infant out in front of him and raised his weapon, "She's nothing more than a rat to me. My team is on their way, you'll come with us the easy way or the hard way. I don't give a fuck which you chose."

     "Please. Let me hold her one more time. Please."

     The agent pulled back on the trigger mechanism.

      _My beautiful daughter._

     It was the moment when a bullet from a sniper's rifle entered the right side of the ONI Agent's skull that Randall made up his mind he would die before he let them take him down. It would be very nice if he could hold her one more time.

     The agent's head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. Randall watched the gun waver and drop toward the deck.

     He dove into the man knocking him off his feet. Dead before he even knew it, the agent lay still on the deck.

     Randall curled around his daughter and let them roll across the deck. Sitting up he opened his shirt and placed her inside. Slowly, she calmed down and began to whimper. Her small hiccups gentle against his chest helped him calm down and take action.

     More feet pounding up the ramp. John-117 pulled Randall to his feet while Jun raced for the cockpit.

     The ramp screeched to life and began to close.

     "Strap in! The filthy bastards are everywhere."

     John shoved Randall into a seat and strapped him in; with a few seconds to spare, he secured the infant. Then true to his word, Jun fired up the aircraft. The Broadsword's engines thundered to life, flattening the brush around them in all directions. Once they were above the tree line, Jun set the aircraft on a trajectory into space. John shook his head and hung on to a strut, just managing to stay on his feet. Damn Spartan IIIs, he thought. Out of control just about all of the time.

     Craning his neck to see that his daughter is safe, Randall noticed something interfering with his vision. Was it condensation or smoke burning his eyes? The aircraft showed green across the board, so he simply scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes and gulped a few breaths.

     "Did we get an ID on that sniper and his spotter?" John shouted over the din of the engine noise."

     Jun shrugged his shoulders, "Some wanna-be named Jameson Locke and a petty officer, a fancy boy named Alistair Bov Estrinmade. Took a couple of the civilians with me to his location," Jun's dark chuckle echoed across the bay, "bastard'll never be sure just how many Spartans it took to break his wrist, kick his chest in and toss him off the cliff."

     John took advantage of the Jun's talking to strap himself into the seat next to Randall.

     "Didn't expect you two to come along for the ride."

    "Too many of them to remain undercover," John remarked quietly. Mission parameters were met; success achieved."

     That was not lost on Randall, "Yeah, you caught me."

     Jun interrupted whatever else Randal might have said, "John! I need some coordinates!"


	4. Bow Down to No Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and Spartan Smiles to the person who suggested the idea of a Toddler Meltdown and apologies for not remembering your name. You know who you are ;-) I never had kids, so let me know if I got it right.

* * *

"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men." —Frederick Douglass

* * *

  **Twenty Months Later**

     "Natalie, I will not ask you again," he tries one more time staring into the brown eyes, which reflect back what he sees in the mirror every morning, although the quivering chin is her mother. He heaves a sigh and wonders who's likely to win this battle. The baby doll she's decided she can't live without lays between them on the floor like a weapon. It's a battle of wills to see who might win the day by taking possession of the brown-eyed and blond-haired baby doll. The fact that the doll looks just like his daughter is not lost on him, and he suspects she feels the same.

     It's three days before the Terran holiday of Christmas, and he wishes they were anywhere but here. This planet seems bent on wringing every bit of noise, color, and gaudy trappings out of the holiday. Anxious people hurrying through the crowded shopping center, the noisome scent of too many perfumes competing for shoppers attention, brightly wrapped gifts and blinking lights. The faux smell of pine, a cacophony of holiday music and what was that apparition of a heavy-set man in a red velvet suit and fake beard? He sat on a throne surrounded by plastic snow and odd looking four legged creatures. One of them sported a red nose. Although he's well aware there were many things he missed growing up under the care and scrutiny of Dr. Halsey and Chief Mendez in the Spartan II program. That man…what was that? Natalie took one look at the scene and ran for the toy department. When he caught up with her, she'd already discovered the baby dolls.

     His daughter's voice rises in the crowded store. Her brown eyes glassed over with tears threatening to spill over her blond lashes. He knows she will use those tears to her advantage. He offers her his hand. She refuses the gesture and crosses her arms over her small chest in defiance. Although he worries the whole store is watching them, her behavior is no different from the other over-excited children around them.

     She's grown up so quickly, almost two now, and she's taller than her peers, talks more and learns faster. It's difficult enough for a man of his unusual size to hide in plain sight, stranger yet with an infant strapped to his chest. Now that she has a mind of her own and her father's personality it's nearly impossible.

     Impossible, not because he's embarrassed at her behavior, impossible because it could get them either killed or separated. Since that day Jun and John dropped them off at a space station well inside the safe zone, they'd lived a gypsy's life. He barely makes enough money to keep them fed and pay rent on their tiny apartment. Toys, until now, hadn't been an issue. If he could just get her out of here and get her calmed down, but that was not to be.

     "Daddy, pleeease?"

     She launches a second salvo at him when her voice breaks over the word daddy. Two tears roll over her round cheeks and inject another piece of guilt into his heart.

     "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

     That was definitely not the answer she was looking for, and the tears began in earnest. Bloody hell, would he have to pick her up and walk out of here with her screaming? She hugged the baby in her arms and began to sob.

     "Pleeeeeeeese?"

     Randall scrubbed his hand over his short hair and bit down on a reply that might sound too much like a drill sergeant shouting at a boot. This is one of those moments when he felt utterly inadequate to the task of parenting. Why won't she just follow his orders without question. Shoppers were already beginning to notice the weeping little girl sitting in the middle of the isle. Why the fucking hell didn't they keep these useless toys boxed up and out of the hands of these kids? Unnecessary chaos.

     The familiar sight of a uniform caught his attention and he looked up. Two UNSC sailors watched him from the end of the crowded toy isle. Great, fucking great. Now the sailors could tell the story of the Spartan they saw at the Mall because they couldn't fail to recognize someone of his size and stature, scaring a little girl. One sailor would tell another sailor, who'd tell a Marine, who'd wonder what a Spartan was doing out of uniform or in public at all and that, would be the end of them.

     "Nat, I said now and I mean now." His voice pitched low and dark designed to capture her attention. It usually worked, and it did until one of the sailors dropped to her knees next to his daughter.

     "Hey, sweetie. That's a beautiful baby doll. Have you named her?"

     All warnings of not speaking to strangers drowned in another flood of tears. "I named her, Cindy," Natalie said hiccupping through her tears. The woman continued to speak softly to his daughter while the other sailor walked up next to him. Warning bells went off, and his blood pressure ratcheted up a notch. This situation was officially out of his control, and that was not acceptable.

     The sailor unexpectedly stuck out his hand, "Petty Officer Kelly. Happy holidays, sir."

     He didn't want to shake anyone's hand he wanted to get out of here and away from this crowd. But the sailor had just called him sir, and he spared a glance into the man's eyes.

     "Spent a tour on the ' _Autumn,_ sir." Gripping Randall's hand he continued quietly. "Shipmates take care of each other is the way I learned it. So if you'll allow us… I have a daughter of my own. You and your little girl enjoy the holidays."

     The sailor released his hand leaving enough money in Randall's palm to buy two dolls. When he looked up again before he could stop them, they vanished into the crowd. They'd recognized him for what he was and understood. With an unaccustomed feeling of trust expanding his heart, he realized they wouldn't report the odd appearance of a Spartan shopping with a little girl. Shipmates did indeed take care of each other.

     Randall bent down on one knee, "Natalie, bring Cindy with you. We need to get going now."

     With an expression of sudden joy on her face, she took his offered hand and giggled when he swung her up into his arms. "Merry Christmas, Nat."

     She buried her face in his neck, wiping her tears and runny nose on his shirt, "T-thank you, Daddy. Y-y can play with her whenever you want. I gettn' kinda big t-to hold like a baby, so you hold her if you need to. 'K?"

     "Okay, Nat." Which was all he could manage over the lump of emotion clogging his throat and the love filling his chest with life. He tightened his hold on her and only let go of her long enough to pay for the doll and the few personal items he purchased. They made it through the checkout without further incident or tears. With one arm wrapped firmly around his neck and the other around her new doll, Randall and his daughter continued outside the store to the food court.

     A winter sun shined its fragile rays through the glass doom above their heads. He felt better and more at ease than he had in a long time. Perhaps they had time for one more unexpected treat. "What do you want for lunch, Nat?"

     He never heard her answer.

    A hand landed on his shoulder. He turned with Spartan speed from under the grip, only to find himself surrounded by uniformed men.

    "Don't try it," one of them said in threatening voice. "We know you're capable of outrunning us. But you can't outrun a bullet and I'd hate to miss you and hit your daughter. So how about you just come quietly."

     With is eyes shifting over the growing crowd of nosy shoppers, he identified the exits. They wouldn't dare shoot into a crowd. Did they actually intend to intimidate him? They were just civilian cops, not military, but he hand to wonder if they'd been briefed on just how fast a Spartan could move. He doubted it. They may not even realize his true identity, merely a man and little girl they were sent to apprehend. Randall decided to take that on faith and attempt to evade them. It shouldn't be too difficult. That's what he told himself as he carefully guided Natalie's legs firmly around his chest.

     Into her ear he whispered, "Hang on."

     Hang on was their code word for emergency and she knew better than to object. They practiced this and she knew what to do without question. With her new doll wedged between them, Natalie knotted her fingers around her father's neck and tucked her head beneath his chin. Natalie's heart thrummed in anticipation, her daddy could run so fast! She did keep her eyes open so she could watch the startled faces of the crowd as they jumped out of their way. She had to stifle a giggle when a startled woman dropped her coffee when they rushed past. This wasn't a funny situation and she knew it, but it was funny to see that woman's face. She heard shouts behind them, but the sounds of the men's angry voices faded when they made it outside. Deciding to take a chance, she lifted her head. The effect was immediate.

      "Head down!"

     She complied immediately and Randall heard her reassuring her new doll. "It's okay, Cindy. He's not mad. Daddy will take care of us. Don't worry."

     The Spartan didn't slow down until he was well inside the parkland surrounding the city. He finally stopped inside an outcropping of granite boulders and leaned against one of them. The hard rock felt enjoyably cool rock against his sweat soaked back.

     "Are you okay, Nat."

     "Yes, Daddy. Cindy and I are okay. What will we do now? Where will we sleep?"

He took a long breath and looked down into her wise brown eyes. As usual, his daughter hit on the logic of the issue. They couldn't go back to their apartment. Obviously, whoever was after them would be waiting for them. There's no one to ask about just who is chasing them and no one to contact for help. With an eye on the sky and the lowering temperature, Randall Aiken considered what to do.

     "Daddy? Cindy is getting cold."


	5. Bow Down to No Man

* * *

“In his face there came to be a brooding peace that is seen most often in the faces of the very sorrowful or the very wise. But still he wandered through the streets of the town, always silent and alone.”  
―Carson McCullers, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

* * *

 

     With the money in his pocket, Natalie’s new doll, and the clothes on their back they’d managed to escape. Although he hadn’t figured out their identity, he hadn’t stopped looking over his shoulder moving in almost two years. He worked short-term jobs when he could get them. Work requiring a strong back wasn’t difficult to find. They headed out whenever he made enough money to book passage on a ship.

     Natalie was almost five and ready to start school. Randall taught her how to read and she could write her letters and numbers. She could count to one-hundred and had a set of her favorite books. Never enough money to buy new books, of course. Worn, but well-loved books with their dog-eared pages thin and tattered with use. Sometimes she read them aloud to her father, and occasionally he read them to her.

     The grief he felt for Lara ran through his thoughts like a painful injury that never entirely healed. Then he’d watch his daughter playing with her few toys or quietly reading to herself or Cindy and the pain would rush into his chest without warning. He couldn’t stop it from happening. As the pain from an unexpected blow, unshed tears would burn his eyes and sadness, which knew no end would claim him. Sometimes it got so bad he locked himself in the bathroom and fought through it. Then, on a night like tonight she noticed his silence and crawled into his lap to comfort him. It’s okay, Daddy, she would say and pat his broad shoulder with her small hand.

     Spartan training battled daily with the loneliness of a man who’s known a woman’s love. While the Vodin’s colonists were always wary of the tall and silent soldier in their midst, it was Lara who drew him out. Lara, who day by day, taught him how to accept the gifts she offered him. Learned to trust the strange yearnings rising from places he’d never thought about until he experienced the pressure of her mouth on his. He’d known the stunning sensation of lying naked next to her, the complete absence of the usual violence he knew his hands were capable of when he shyly returned her affection.

     Raising his daughter properly and keeping her safe always stood at the center of his thoughts and plans. Occasionally, catching him unawares on another lonely night when his body woke him with memories of Lara. Deeply asleep, he responded to the hands that woke him so provocatively. With a smile in the dark at her boldness, and he loved that about her, he reached to claim his woman. Taut as a bowstring he would turn in the empty bed to find nothing but his aching loneliness. With a stifled sob, he willed his blood to cool, his heart to slow and forced himself back to sleep. He imagined, of course, that his daughter knew nothing of this. Occasionally he’d wake in the morning to find her curled against his back or quietly reading at the end of his bed. A night like that left him gutted and grieving. When would it end?

     The sixteen-hour workday was catching up with him this evening. The crew unloaded pallet after pallet of supplies today. The shift boss encouraged them by saying the robotic unloaders were coming soon. By the look of the place, Randall doubted they could ever afford it. He didn’t complain, he never complained and the money kept his daughter fed. He’d made enough money today to buy her a new book. He was already thinking about how happy that would make her when he leaned back in his chair and allowed his thoughts to wander.

     ONI would not stop searching for them of that much he was certain. How far out must they go to find freedom and peace of mind? His daughter was no longer a child. Was it time to settle down? She needed stability, a school, and friends her own age. Just how he might make that happen, he had yet to figure out, but Spartan Randall-037 vowed that he would find a way. He owed that to her and to Lara.

     Natalie sat on the dingy floor of their tiny apartment quietly reading under the meager light of an old-fashioned incandescent bulb. With the innate instincts of a human female, she kept an eye on her father while focusing on the pages of her book. She couldn’t remember the moment when she realized her father needed someone to take care of him. If not her, then who? He was unhappy, she didn’t a need school to understand that much. What to do about it was a subject she thought about every day. Like one of those math problems, she practiced. She would figure this out too.

     A change in her father’s breathing alerted her that he’d probably fallen asleep. It was late, but not that late or he would have sent her bed by now. Instead, he’d fallen asleep in his chair. A few times when they’d been out shopping, she’d met some nice people. If she asked one of them to help, her daddy might be happy she was so helpful. As she pulled on her shoes, Natalie thought about whom to ask first. The lady at the comm center where they checked for messages always smiled at her. Now that she wasn’t a baby anymore, and could figure these things out herself. When someone smiled at you it meant they liked you.

     Slipping her jacket on, Natalie stopped to listen to her daddy snore. He was funny when he snored like that. Convinced he would be pleased with her efforts, she tiptoed to the front door and walked carefully into the night. No, she wouldn’t wake him. She’d be back with before he woke up and she knew how to be quiet. Her father called it Spartan-quiet, although she didn’t know what it meant. They’d practiced walking quietly until she was good at it. In fact, she thought with pride she knew a lot about being a Spartan. Didn’t he often call her his little Spartan?

     As she headed toward the center of the compound, she thought about what it would be like to have a mommy. Maybe that lady at the comm center needed a little girl and did her daddy need a wife, she wondered? She knew quite a bit about the whole deal of mommies and daddies and where children came from. Although she was still a little unclear about how it all worked. Maybe a wife would make her daddy smile again?

  
~o~

  
     Something startled him awake. He sat up with that rush of adrenaline coupled with an icy chill of sweat on his brown alerting him that something is wrong.

     “Natalie!”

  
     The silence pushed him to his feet to check their small bedrooms. He gripped the doorframe and the faux wood splintered in protest. Cindy lay under a blanket with her head on a pillow. The cold sweat turned to his blood to ice water.

“Natalie!”

  
     He tugged on his shoes while he rushed from room to room in the small space they called home. The front door rattled on its hinges when he flung it open and charged down the steps. Randall, breathing heavily, slid to a stop when he saw Natalie’s footprints in the dirty slush.

     How long had he slept?

     Why did she leave?

     The unanswered question struck him like knives and each attack caused him to stumble in the dirty snow.

      Where is she?

     “Natalie!”

 

~o~

 

     “Oh, no.” Natalie frowned when she found the comm center closed. Disappointment strong in her small chest, she sighed deeply. She had questions she was pretty sure only another woman could answer. When Natalie she sat down on a bench to think about what to do next, the lights of the store where they often shopped beckoned. Maybe, just maybe there’s a woman in there and she had just enough money in her pocket to buy her Daddy one of those chocolate and caramel candy bars he enjoyed so much. Yes, that’s what she would do. With her resolve strengthened, Natalie headed across the street.

     A man met her at the curb. She had to look straight up to see his face. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” She said airily and swept past him.

     “I’m not a stranger, Natalie Aiken. We met when you were three days old.

 

~o~

 

     Jun was in the front door before Randall could stop him. “Natalie!” He called for moving quickly through their small space. “Natalie! Then he turned on Jun. “Where the fuck is she!”

     Jun easily blocked Randall’s grab for his collar, “Stop shouting, Randall. She’s fine. She’s with John.”

     “The fuck she is,” he growled rage fueling his motion. When he tried knocking Jun out of his way he met a wall. Jun was ready for him and back him against the wall, nearly pushing him through the thin plaster board with his strength and their combined weight.

     “Listen to me, you fool. Five years we’ve run interference for you. Locke and his bunch are still after you and ONI will never stop searching. You know that’s true. If you’ll stop fighting me and listen.”

     Randall shook him off and straightened. All of what Jun said was true, of course. Barely scraping by. He often missed a meal so Natalie could eat her fill. The dingy apartment he could never keep clean. The mended clothes she grew out of seemingly overnight. The holes in the toes of her sneakers. Winter is almost here and the coat she wore last year not longer fits her. He let out a long breath that sounded more like a sob. They’d been running for so long. She needed a real school and friends her own age.

     Jun placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done good, brother. You did something none of us could, you raised a child. And you can continue to be her father, but first…”

     “Bloody hell, just spit it out!” Randall dropped back in his chair with his head in his hands.

 

~o~

 

     Natalie eyed the man who claimed to know her suspiciously. Anyone could say anything about anyone, that she knew. But this man was tall like her father with the same fierce look on his face.

     “Why do Spartans always look so sad,” she asked, holding up her hands with her fingers curved.

     John looked down in confusion at her raised hands.

     “My daddy picks me up this way.”

     “What way?”

     “Are you sure you’re a Spartan? He says it’s how it’s done. Don’t you know?”

     “How what is done?”

     She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “My daddy says, I’m his little spartan and he’s a Spartan and if you’re a Spartan then you must know how to pick me up. So if you don’t know…”

    She was gone before he could even reach out to stop her.

 

~o~

 

     “You’ll make sure she goes to school?”

     “I swear to you, Randall. We’ll take care of her. No matter what else goes on in this fucked up galaxy, Spartans are still Spartans and we take care of each other.”

     “Aye, I know it.”

     “The UNSC has a place for kids like her. A school for military kids who can’t live with their parents.”

     The front door banged open. “A school! What kind of school! Daddy, what KIND OF SCHOOL!”

     Randal shoved Jun aside and lifted his daughter into his arms. While John entered a step behind her, the weight of his step sending a shower of dust into the air.

     With her hands out, Randall let her cling to his forearm as he lifted her from the ground into his arms. When he got her properly settled with her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck.   “It’s a proper school for military kids, Nat.” Better he’d drowned in Vodin’s ocean. “You’d get new books and meet kids you’re own age.”

     Natalie framed her father’s face with her hands with a frown he knew very well. “Where will we live, Daddy?”

     This he would do for her. It wasn’t forever and once he satisfied ONI they could be free. They’d go somewhere else. A different planet. A better place. He’d collect his back pay and perhaps he could retire from the UNSC Navy and earn retirement pay. He could settle a real future on Natalie. It was the right thing to do.

_I’m sorry, Lara. I have no choice._

     The agony of letting her go gnawed at him, tearing into him and fracturing the great Spartan heart.

_I’m sorry, Lara._

    “For a few months, we’ll live in different places, Sweetheart. You’ll go to school while I do some work with John and Jun. Then-then when you see me again I might seem different to you, but I’ll still be your Father. Do you trust me on that promise?”

_Unlike all the other broken promises. I have to keep you safe, Natalie. Someday, you’ll understand._

     “So I need you to go with John now.”

     “Right now, Daddy?”

     “Yes, baby. This needs to end. We can be safe and together very soon. Will you study hard in school?”

     Her eyes filled with tears. She was trying very hard to be a Spartan, but John’s hands were on her waist and he was pulling her away from her father.

    “Wait! Daddy, I bought this for you.” She pulled the candy bar from her pocket and offered it to him. “I love you, Daddy. Be brave, okay? It’s not hard, like math is, because we’re Spartans.”

     John pulled her into his arms and headed toward the small door of the dark apartment.

_He doesn't know how to hold me. I don’t like him. I need my daddy. I need my daddy, I need my daddy._

     “Don’t forget, Daddy!”

     The front door banged shut and Randall dropped to his knees.

     “Come on then, Randall. There’s nothing left here for you. But there is a future.”

     Spartan Randall-037 rose to his feet and squared his shoulders. With her doll crushed in his hand, he followed Jun out the door and into the snowy night.


	6. Bow Down Before No Man

* * *

"Because I could not stop for Death—

He kindly stopped for me—

The Carriage held but just Ourselves—

And Immortality..."

—Emily Dickinson, c.1863

* * *

 

_Nine months since I last saw my Natalie. Nine months since I tucked her in or read her a story. I missed her birthday, my wedding anniversary and the anniversary of Lara's death._

Naked and pinned down on an icy stainless steel bed he fought the pain. His body arched against the restraints, ripping a scream from his throat. His hands snapped with enough force to break bones against the restraints. Large hands clenched into fists. Fingernails gouged tracks of blood into his palms. A sudden twist of nausea coated his throat with metallic tasting bile. He willed it down, swallowed the burning acid from his gut, pushed it down and away. A Spartan could do that.

More than simple pain, this was agony as they tore into his flesh to rob im of his identity. They'd covered his eyes to project them, but not his mouth. He couldn't stop the scream, he tried forcing it through his nose. Breath through your nose. Don't fight it. The agony exploded from his nose in a froth of mucus and unspent tears. Blood churned through his body pooling in his organs to save him. His body only knew that it was horribly injured and tried to protect his life.

_I miss you, sweetheart. I can't wait to learn all about school and your new friends._

"Please, Mr. Aiken we must ask that you lay still. We explained all this to you, and we're sorry we can't sedate you. Now, you must lay perfectly still. We're almost done." A gloved hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, and they begin again.

_I miss you and our gypsy life. I did the right thing. I did the right thing. We'll be together again soon._

The mechanical bed turned him, and the eye covering falls away. He stares down at the floor mesmerized for a moment by the drops of blood and snot dripping from his face. Until fire as hot as a plasma blast roared up his spine.

Once, he'd been proud to be a Spartan. Proud of the scars from the implants. Proud of his team. Later he counted the battle scars covering his chest and arms. It didn't matter how many ribbons they awarded him. It was the scars that proved he'd done a good job protecting the marines who ran at his side, and the civilians huddled in their homes.

The pain raged across his body, muscles alternatively quivered or cramped in protest adding to the catalog of his agony. Flayed alive. The smell of his blood permeated the air he sucked into his chest, coating his throat and lungs with a viscous vapor. Stripping the flesh from his bones felt like being flayed alive. One of the same fates Jesus suffered. He was no messiah, but he'd done some good. Hadn't he?

A prayer his grandmother taught him when he was a boy filtered through the torture pains. Through his clouded mind he hears her reciting the prayer. In her singsong voice she said it when she put him to bed at night. When he was old enough, he'd kneel by her side, and they said it together. Randall grabbed hold of the memory and chanted the prayer. His old granny with more Yorkshire words than anyone he knew. She'd been everything to him.

_I remember the prayer granny. I remember..._

_Ahr Fatther, 'oo art in 'Eaven,_

_Let thy name_ bi _shown respect,_

_Let thy Kingdom come abaht_

An _what tha wants doin, Lord, let it_ bi _done_

_'Ere on earth_

_Same as up yonder;_

_Gi'e us each day_

Summat _to eyt an' sup;_

_An' let us off, Lord,_

_If we've offended Thee_ bi _doin owt wrong_

 _An' 'elp us_ nut _to '_ od _grudges_

_Agen other fowk_

_If the've done owt to offend us;_

An _keep us aht o' t' rooad o' temptation,_

_An' aht o' f clutches of Owd Nick,_

_Fer it's all thine is t' Kingdom, Lord,_

_An' all t Pahr, an' all t' Glooary,_

Fer _ivver an' ivver …_

With the familiar rhythm of his grandmother's voice, he's able to suppress the cry of agony when they remove the implants from his left thigh. She always saw to his hurts and soothed him with soft words.

Stronger than the other boys, he outraced and outfought them. Up and down the moors they ran like a pack of wild dogs. On clear days, they raced their shaggy moor ponies pretending to protect their small town of Hull against invading bands of Vikings. The other boys always insisted Randall play the Viking. He never minded because he always won. He'd race his shaggy pony, shouting a victory cry, imagining he was a mighty Viking or a Knight upon a mighty destrier.

Occasionally they'd turn on him, and it took all of them to do it, beating him out of frustration and the rage young boys cannot always control. Granny met him at the door with a cup of sweetened hot tea, chocolate biscuits, hugs, and bandages. She sang to him while she cleaned him up and later made his favorite dinner.

_His little girl is a lot like Grandmother. He knew in his heart he'd done the right thing._

"Mr. Randall please be still you're only making it worse."

_Oh, Sweet Jesus, it hurt. Natalie, I'm coming. I'm coming home. Soon, baby._

The bed spins again. He doesn't even recognize the sound of his voice. Hoarse from screaming he tastes blood on his tongue. Must have bitten my tongue, he thinks idly as if it were a common thing. Bile and blood flowed into this throat now that he's on his back again. Suffocating, he struggles. Concerned eyes over a sweat soaked mask and surgical cap suction his mouth and replaced the bandage over his eyes.

They begin to remove the implants from his right time, he can't stop the hot and acrid vomit from spilling out of his mouth. If he could see his legs, he knew…he knew they were burning with the green plasma the skin melting his bones broken into little pieces. Yes, it felt as if they were breaking his legs with hammers.

Instead of screaming he began a litany of every swear word he knows. And he knows quite a few. Some in Gaelic, many in English and a few his Granny taught him when she forgot to hide her anger about the boys who beat him.

In nine months, he'd run twelve secret ops for ONI. Each mission put him closer to reuniting with his daughter. Twice he nearly died out in the field, but he'd pushed on like a good Spartan until he'd forced the mission to a victorious end. Yet they weren't finished with him and today they take their pound of flesh. Pound of flesh? Yes, he remembers the quote from a play… Shakespeare…

"Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:

You take my house when you do take the prop

That doth sustain my house; you take my life

When you do take the means whereby I live."

They spread his fingers, slicing into the nerve-dense tissue. Scars upon scars upon scars… As he finally loses consciousness, a sob breaks free from his soul, and his heart breaks into frozen pieces of grief… _I'm not a Spartan anymore._

Above the operating room standing alone at parade rest a woman silently watched the procedure from the observation area. Although his cries of pain disgusted her no emotion showed on the stern etched lines and muscles of her face. Withered and hard she appears older than she her actual age. Not that she cared. She'd seen too much in her years with military to allow anything to disturb or upset her. When it was over, and Randall Aiken lay unconscious, stripped of the gifts she'd approved she nodded her head once, shifted her hard eyes toward the exit and walked away.

Her aid opened the door of her staff car and she slide across the black leather seat. When the door closed and she's alone behind the glass partition and the heavily tinted windows she poured herself a shot of single malt she tossed it back, congratulating herself on her success with Randall-037. She planned to send him to an outer colony planet named Sedra and he could rot out there in the ass-end of the galaxy. She poured herself another shot of scotch and raised the glass to herself. No one fucked with Admiral Margaret Parangosky and got away with it. No one.

~o~

The ringing bell signals recess. The children sprint into the warm sunny day over the shouts of their teachers warning them about running. Freedom, at last. They run toward their favorite equipment. Natalie Aiken, a tall for her age second grader, shouts over the din to gain the attention of a small group of her friends. They respond immediately by lining up in front of her.

"Atten-shun!"

A natural leader and the smartest student in her class. She reads at a fourth grade level and enjoys arguing with the Librarian that the books she chooses are too complicated for her to understand. Second graders aren't supposed to read chapter books. Her response is to recite the plot of the last chapter book she read to the Librarian who purses her lips while she abruptly slides the book under the scanner.

Natalie works hard in school because that's what a Spartan does. She works hard and learns all she can to achieve success on this covert ops. If she does all these things and the mission is successful she'll earn the right to see her father again. Almost ten months since she's seen him, she fights to keep the memories of him alive in her mind. He'll be so proud of her accomplishments, she smiles as she marches up and down in front of her recruits. She's been a good Spartan and someday soon she'll see her daddy again.

The bell sounds unexpectedly again and her name is called. "Natalie Aiken, come to the office. Natalie Aiken come to the front office."

She dismisses her recruits, gets a nod of permission from her teacher and heads toward the office. Puzzled over the summons, she hasn't done anything to get into trouble. Well, there was that one time when that creepy boy made fun of her height and called her a giraffe. She tried to tell him she was tall like a Spartan, but by the time she had the boy on his back to prove to him she was a Spartan one of the male teachers lifted her off the boy and sent her to the principal's office. An afternoon detention and listening to the principal remind her to be kind like Josh and saying yes ma'am so many times her jaws ached cured her of needing to prove anything to anyone. She kept her head down and worked hard on her grades.

Through the glass wall of the office a familiar form took shape. Natalie's heart skipped a beat and her pace quickened. The principal met her at the door and beckoned her in with a smile.

~o~

One week and several light years later Natalie walked sedately between John and Jun into a private hospital located on a secret base. Although she cried for a few miles over losing her friends and leaving school, Jun patiently answered all her questions. Well, almost all of them. She kept her eyes on John who said nothing the entire trip. She still didn't trust him, he obviously didn't know anything about children or how to be kind like Josh. Maybe he was a new recruit and didn't know about that stuff?

The hospital corridor seemed endless and she didn't like the smells. Not at all. In fact, she realized she was actually afraid to look into the rooms. When John and Jun finally stopped in front of an open doorway she kept her eyes on the floor.

Why were they here? I want to go back to school and get away from this scary place.

Jun knelt down next to her, "Natalie? Don't be afraid. Looks who's waiting for you."

A pale face turned toward her and smiled. Randall managed to lift one arm and gesture.

"DADDY!"

In seconds she's straddling his chest and peppering him with questions. From under his pillow he pulls a lump of dirty cloth. "I kept Cindy safe for you, Sweetheart."

* * *

 

1\. In case you needed a translation ;-)

**The Lord's Prayer**

Our Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy will be done in earth,

As it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

The power, and the glory,

For ever and ever.

Amen.

Traditional. Taken from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, 1662.

 

2\. Shakespeare, _The Merchant of Venice_ , 1-4. Shylock.

 

3\. Be Kind Like Josh. Both of my schools - I'm the computer tech at two elementary schools - implemented this program to counteract bullying. Here. Watch this vid. Both schools play this every Thursday over the loudspeaker: watch?v=f7RE9SLJZow. You'll love getting this song stuck in your head.


	7. Bow Down Before no Man

* * *

"While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die." —Leonardo Da Vinci

* * *

Two days before her tenth birthday Natalie Aiken sat cross legged on her bed thoughtfully stringing red and white beads together to make a bracelet for her dad. Although there were plenty of other colors to chose from she decided to make this for her father and she'd picked the colors of his militia unit. She like the texture of the wood and how the red ones were smooth while the whites beads were rough.

Glancing out her window she noticed the rain had stopped. The thunder and lightning hadn't scared her but the storm was so loud it kept her awake most of the night. That's why she was up so early and keeping herself occupied so her father could sleep in. He hardly ever got a day off and today was Saturday. Natalie watched the colors deepen as sunrise splashed colors of red and gold over the horizon until she heard footsteps in the hallway.

Carefully knotting the string, Natalie shoved her feet into slippers and followed her father to the large floor to ceiling windows. The sunrise filled the window with beautiful colors, as it were a show for just the two of them. Holding up her hands her father lifted her into his arms and she laid her head on his shoulder while they silently watched the sunrise together. When she felt him sigh, Natalie carefully wove the string of beads through his fingers. He smiled his thanks and kissed her forehead.

"How about some breakfast, Nat? Let's make waffles and we can decide what to do with our day."

"Waffles! Yay!" She scrambled down from his arms and sprinted toward the kitchen. By the time he joined her she had the refrigerator door flung open and pulling out eggs, butter and milk. A whirl of activity Randall stopped for a moment just to watch her in action. Tall and graceful she carefully removed the plates and glasses to set the table. Although she was fair like him, there was so much of Lara in her movements, her voice and graceful way of moving. Occasionally, she'd turn and look at him in exactly the same way Lara did and it took his breath away.

Then he'd have a conversation with himself about meeting someone new. They'd talked about Natalie needing a mother in her life. Natalie always told him no. They had each other and that was all they needed. Then she'd look at him with her wise brown eyes and tell him it was okay if he needed someone in his life, but she didn't need a new mom. When they were out shopping or at a restaurant sh'e point out a pretty girl to him. Quite the little matchmaker.

With the eggs, milk and mix ready for him, he heated up the waffle press. While he carefully ladled out batter and cooked their breakfast, Natalie sat on the counter and chatted about school and her pretty new teacher named Gillian Lacey and what a pretty name that was and how she wasn't married, but she did have a six year-old-son. And six wasn't too young. Not like a baby, anyway. She told Ms. Lacey all about her father and how nice he was and what a great daddy she had.

Randall listened to Natalie while they sat down at the table and he served their breakfast. She took a break from talking while covering her waffles with butter and syrup.

"That's enough, Nat."

"But, Daddy. isn't the whole reason to make waffles is the butter and syrup?"

When he laughed, she laughed too. He was always so serious and she liked to try to make him laugh. She set the syrup down and pushed everything over to him.

They ate in silence while Randall enjoyed watching his beautiful girl actually sit still. She was funny, smart and with her mass of curly blond hair, too cute for her own good. Her teachers sent him glowing reports of her intelligence and leadership ability. She had more friends than he could keep track of. If he could love her more, he didn't know how. Swallowing a bite of waffle to push down the lump in his throat he asked her the question of the day.

"So what should we do today, Nat?"

She furrowed her brow and thoughtfully chewed her breakfast. "Well," she waving her fork for emphasis. "I need some new jeans and I got an email letting me know the bookstore had that new book I preordered."

"You preordered something without asking?"

"Well, Daddy. It is my favorite series and I didn't want to bother…"

The comm device rang and cut Natalie from finishing her sentence. Then she watched her father frown into the handset. Uh, oh, she thought. Trouble. All he said, was yes and no and I'll be right there. Then he hung up.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said without looking at her. "I have to go in. Something is going on."

"Is it bad?"

"I don't know yet. Why don't I call Sara next door and maybe she can take you to the Mall later?"

When he finally looked into those big brown eyes, he lost himself. So he just picked her up and hugged her.

"Daddy! You're squeezing me too tight. I can't breeeeeeeeeath." Then she giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's okay. Tonight we can watch that movie and you can read my new book to me."

A tradition they never allowed to die, reading her a bedtime story was still her favorite thing.

"Buy something pretty. Okay? Whatever you want."

"Thanks Daddy. I love you," she said and kissed the end of his nose This was their Spartan kiss and he returned the gesture by kissing the end of her nose. Then he took two fingers and swiped them across her face in the shape of a smile.

"Love you, too."

He watched her rush to get ready while he called their neighbor, Sarah. In less than ten minutes, with her hair in a neat ponytail, clean clothes and her teeth brushed, she's ready for inspection. Five minutes later Natalie waved and flew out the door.

With a heavy sigh, Randall slipped on his uniform and headed to headquarters.

What greeted him there completed the ruination of his day. With their heads together speaking quietly, a team of ONI stood in his office. Their leader, he assumed, when he stuck out his hand, a tall and powerfully built man. Randall ignored it. Instead, he said bluntly, "What are you doing here?"

"We tracked a Sangheili here and…"

Randall slammed his door closed. "You come here without me knowing it and start a panic? Bloody ONI."

"Just listen to me, Colonel. We tracked it into the city where it set off a device. Possibly biological." The ONI lieutenant held up a digital device with an image of the Sangheili dead on the floor of the Mall the device a few feet away.

On the other side of his office frantic radio calls seem to confirm the Lieutenant's story. They all listen to reports of civilian's dying in the streets and the sound of screaming in the background. The hospitals are filling up faster than they can treat the injured. Randall's monitor comes to life with a scene at a downtown shopping Mall. Chaos. Terrified people running every direction as they drop to the ground. Children left alone, screaming as they watch their parents die, until moments later they die too. The news anchor desperately attempts to keep broadcasting until she drops to the floor herself. The vid come operator cries out and the camera goes dark.

Natalie.

Something cold and hard clutches at Randall. His daughter could be in danger. The Lieutenant grabs his arm, but he shakes him off and rounds on him. The Lieutenant takes a step back at the fury of Randall's words. "You fucking ONI, you bring this to my doorstep, TO MY PEOPLE?"

My daughter.

"We need your help getting to a fragment of Installation 4 and destroy what's left of this element before they obtain enough to spread it to other colonies. I need you to listen to me, Colonel!"

"No, you listen to me." Randall grabbed the LT by the collar of his uniform.

"I don't care what your mission is. My job is to protect the civilian population of Sedra. I haven't heard a word from you about how to accomplish that. 'Course that's not your mission is it. Get the fuck out of here before I…"

Natalie. Not you. Please.

Randall stopped talking, shoved the LT against his desk and left his office at a run. The streets of downtown Sedra are filled with dead and dying. Many called out to him, reaching for him and begging for help. With the gritty taste of guilt in his dry mouth he ignored them all. Running a broken field maneuver as if crossing a battlefield he sprinted toward the hospital. Everyone knew Natalie. They would take her to the Sedran Colonial Guard Hospital. Why hadn't they contacted him?

Someone grabbed his leg when he stopped to get his bearings amidst the stench and clamor of fear. It swirls around him whipping him with screams and the sound of weapons fire. The carrion birds circle overhead. Looting had already begun. He should stop them, it is his job after all.

I must get to Nat.

Once he's through the front door of the hospital several of the staff take him by the arms toward a darkened room. The plaintive beeping of a monitor is the only sound in the room as the cacophony outside fades away.

Nothing in his life prepared him for seeing his beautiful daughter laying so helpless in a terrifying tangle of medical cords and tubes. Dark brown eyes turn to him when he enters the room. There is no emotion for him to compartmentalize to cope with what he's seeing. His world narrows down to Natalie's eyes pleading with him to help. She's in pain he knows it and she needs him right now to be strong. It's killing him as fast as the disease is killing her.

With a smile pasted onto his face he sits down next to her on the narrow bed. He must be careful not to scare her with his own fear. Tucking her hair back, he tries a, "Hey, Sweetheart."

Not bad.

"Daddy, I don't feel good."

"I know, baby. There's something in the air making everyone sick. You'll feel better soon."

Her small hands reach up to touch his cheek. "Daddy don't cry. I'll feel better soon. You promised."

He strokes her pale cheeks and watches her eyes. Please don't leave me little one. We've worked so hard to find a life.

"Daddy… do you think I'll get to see mommy soon?"

No!

But he cannot frighten her with his own grief. So he strokes the blond curls away from her face, feels the fever that's burning his beautiful daughter to ashes and kisses the tip of her nose.

"Will you say hi to her for me, Nat?"

"I will Daddy. I promise. Come down here."

He's very close to burying his face against her, but he stops just short of her nose and places a kiss on the tip. She surprises him by swiping two fingers across his lower face.

"Love you, Daddy. Don't be lonely, 'k?"

"Love you, Sweetheart."

The monitor flatlines, but he's already watched the light fade from her eyes. She's gone. All the light and air in the room is gone. He stares into her face wishing… if her were a praying man he would pray for one more moment, one more smile. Open your eyes, baby. Show me what you bought at the mall today.

Footsteps behind him, he guesses it's the hospital staff so he doesn't bother to hide the grief that wets his face. Tearing his eyes from her he sees Lieutenant Locke standing there watching him.

You son-of-bitch, is there no end to your interference. He cannot save Natalie or the people of Sedra. There's nothing left for him here so it takes him just a second to make his decision.

"I hear you need a ship."


	8. Bow Down Before no Man

* * *

**MISSION:** ONI and Sedra military joint operation. Deliver and detonate HAVOC on the HALO Ring fragment from Installation 04

**Mission Diary of Colonel Randall Aiken**

* * *

Hell is an accurate description of this place. The red giant is slowly burning this HALO ring fragment to ash. I observe these ONI boys suffering in the heat. They bicker amongst themselves and whine about saving their own lives. In just a couple of hours, the unity of this highly trained team is disintegrating. What do they know of sacrifice, of a lifetime of killing and defending humanity? As I gaze into their panicked faces, I can smell the fear on them. They are no Spartans, and they disgust me with their petty concerns. I fought alongside Marines with more courage than these ONI boys.

Their leader is an honorable man. At least he does a good job of making his team believe he is an honorable man. What do I believe? Well, he's brave I'll give him that. It is obvious to me, and I think, Macer as well, they are in over their heads. I wonder how they will react when death taps them on the shoulder.

Death comes in many forms. I know this because I have witnessed most of them. As I told Locke, Valhalla does not accept ONI. It's not that I believe in Valhalla. However, it can be a comfort at times, especially to a dying soldier. I can admit if only to myself, that if could see my Natalie again, I would do anything or believe anything… even die.

I must close for now, They are ready to move off. I find myself yearning for my old team of Spartans. I wonder where Jun and John are these days. So many of us are dead now. I stand and take a deep breath of this filthy air. There was a day when I could crush those Hunter worms in my armored fist. A day when this assault rifle was an extension of not just my hand, but my mind and body. But I am no longer Randall-037. I am just a man who grieves for his dead child, his neighbors, and the small beautiful world we created on Sedra. The assault rifle seems too heavy.

We lost several of my team. Those Hunter worms are determined and deadly. If it hadn't been for the smuggler's warning, we'd all be dead. It makes me wonder about the Mjolnir armor. Certainly, the armor would attract the worms, but how long could we have withstood an attack? We. There I go again, comparing this expedition to my old Spartan unit. It's a bloody laugh, comparing these ONIs simpering, overeducated pretty boys the Spartans. I don't think they like getting so dirty. Try spending a few months in Spartan armor, or waking from Cryosleep in a pool of your own sweat.

If my equipment had been powered up, I'd have captured an image of their faces when I explained lifeboat rules. Who hadn't flinched? My little Private Macer, that's who. She's a right good soldier, that one. Put her life in danger just to save Agent Locke's life. I'll get a commendation for her when we get back. Right after we discuss her decision to disobey my specific orders to hold her position. She's got the heart of a Spartan, my Private Mercer.

We're moving out...

\==/

Sunrise isn't far away and near as I can figure we'll have just about that long to live. I can feel the heat building in the air. What little atmosphere there is boils away in the rising heat. It's fine. I'm ready. The behavior of these men is beyond my understanding. What was that Locke had said, 'that he would not go gentle into the good night' Didn't take him for the Dylan Thomas type. You just never know.

Not a religious man, never have been, but I want to see my Natalie's smiling face again. At any rate, I cannot go back to that empty apartment. The sound of her running feet when she greets me at the door. The smell of her hair after a bath. The way she hugs my neck when she's worried about something or had a bad dream. The wise look in her eyes when she's trying to talk me into something I've already said no about. She puts her small hands on each side of my face... Now, Daddy, she says…

I must stop thinking about her. It's all gone... she's gone. There's nothing left for me... Yet, I must stay focused on the mission. I am... I was… I am a Spartan.

The mission comes first. Always has. And so I march on and watch as these ONI boys kill each other off. An hour ago, the medic pushed the young petty officer off the edge of a cliff, then pretended the boy slipped. A Medic capable of murdering one of his own teammates? Another threw one of the civilians to his death. I cannot make sense of it. It's murder plain and simple. What kind of man is Locke that he doesn't put a stop to this behavior?

\==/

We're stopping to take in oxygen before we make our final push to the bottom. A boulder supports my large frame better than I can myself. Macer tosses me the canister, and I nod my thanks. She's a good girl and a good soldier. She has her whole life in front of her. She nods back, and at that moment, I decide to live. If for nothing more than to get her out of here.

I know the oxygen will ease my aching muscles and fuzzy thoughts.

The murderer… I don't know his name… grabs my assault rifle. How can he be faster than I? But it's happened, and now I'm unarmed.

Am I so old now?

\==/

We're down to it, so I expect this'll be my last entry. The other two have run off and taken the last smuggler with them. It won't be long before they take each other down. That's a given. Either way, it's thirty minutes to sunrise.

Three of us left now, and there's only room in the tug for two. I can see the challenge in Locke's eyes. He'll want to be the one to stay behind. I can understand how he feels after watching his team, one by one, swallowed up by this hell.

Our luck holds, because Macer, Locke, and I find the Pelican first. The HAVOC is intact. And now it comes. Locke demands we draw straws before we get to the tug. My brave Macer steps up to take her turn. No, I'll not let her sacrifice herself this way. She's got her life to live. But she insists, and I give in. She's a brave girl and a good soldier.

I'll use the beads from my daughter's necklace. Two white, one red, and the rest I scatter to the deck. I watch them roll and bounce and think it just this morning the two of us watched the sunrise together?

I made her waffles for breakfast, with the last of the strawberries we'd bought at the Farmer's Market.

As I intended, Macer and Locke draw white beads. They don't ask to see the red bead in my hand. Perhaps they understand why there isn't one. Then Macer fires up the ship, and now there's nothing left but for me to walk away. Locke follows Macer, then stops and walks back to me. He wants to say something, but there isn't much time.

He looks out at the horizon, "I was the one who shot at you that day on Vodin. The day of your wife's funeral. You're a good man. I-I'm sorry about all this."

Then he turns and walks away, not waiting for my response. What could I say? Someday, he'll die alone in a pool of his own blood. No need for a psychic to know that's the only end for a man like him.

\==/

The HAVOC is light in my arms as I begin to climb out of the canyon. I hoist it on my shoulder and climb toward the light. The updraft of the Pelican buffets my legs as it rises in the hot air and flies away. I'm easier knowing they'll make it to the tug and off this rock.

With each step, my contentment grows and a strange peace in my heart. For I am Randall-037 again, accomplishing what I was created for and the poison that lives in these black rocks will never again threaten humanity.

The summit is just a few yards away now. The red giant begins to cast her deadly rays across the landscape.

The HAVOC is counting down to detonation. Sixty seconds of my life left to live. I remember the horses we left behind. At least they won't starve now. I had a horse when I was a boy. A fine moor pony, black as the night and fast as the wind. No one could catch us as we raced up and down the coast. That same ocean wind blows in my face again, as I blink in the bright morning sun. A beautiful morning for a ride.

_Thirty seconds._

I bet my Natalie would like a horse.

_Ten seconds._

There in the distance, on a green patch of turf, my little girl waves to me. I take a deep breath of the cold sea air and the sharp tang of the moors. She's riding a horse and leading another.

_Three seconds._

Aye, it's a grand morning for a ride. It'll be good to hear my Natalie laugh again.

_Two seconds._

I want to pull her out of the saddle and hold her close. But she's impatient to be off. The wind blows from the sea throwing billows of foam against the shoreline. The sun is warm on my face. Natalie giggles and waves at me. I quickly mount my horse. Before I can gather the reins properly, she's off, shouting and laughing.

"Catch me, Daddy!"

_One second_

I turn my horse and chase her along the water's edge and through the golden morning…

* * *

 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night.

—Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

~o~

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

~o~

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

~o~

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."


End file.
